


songs of thee, come to my bed

by kissuai



Category: Dragon Age (Video Games), Dragon Age: Origins
Genre: Canon Compliant, Character Study, Developing Relationship, M/M, Mutual Pining, but like barely, im gay and have a lot of feelings about zevran ok?, mention of Rinna, mention of Wynne, mentions of Taliesin, mentions of sex but it's mostly glossed over, zevran has nightmares
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-11-11
Updated: 2020-11-11
Packaged: 2021-03-10 03:08:15
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,929
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27507367
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/kissuai/pseuds/kissuai
Summary: There were several nights spent Mahariel spent with Zevran.'Casual,' he told himself.
Relationships: Zevran Arainai/Male Mahariel, Zevran Arainai/Male Warden
Kudos: 18





	songs of thee, come to my bed

The first time Mahariel slept with Zevran, he had been terribly pent up. They had been skirting a flirtationship for weeks now and Zevran had made no move beyond passing comments on his attraction.

Mahariel had situated himself on a log, watching Zevran over the fire. The Antivan elf was tending to his daggers, wiping clean the blood of werewolves and spider ichor. With a flourish and satisfied huff, the blades shined in the moonlight before being sheathed once more.

Mahariel bit the inside of his lip and, with a cursory look over his other companions, made his way over.

"Ah, my dear, Grey Warden. What is your desire?"

“Zevran, I-" Mahariel rolled back his shoulders, acutely aware of the amount of eyes in camp that now lay on his back. He cleared his throat and started again, "I was wondering if you would join me in my tent."

A glint shone in Zevran's eye, "Oh? Is there something in your tent that needs assassinating? That is my specialty, or so I am told."

He _had_ forgotten this bit of information and almost reconsidered, however the tweak of a brow and upturn of lips settled something warm in Mahariel's gut. Unwillingly, his voice lowered to a murmur, "I bet you're good at a lot of things."

Mahariel remembered little between that and losing himself within the first five minutes of their tryst. Zevran blinked at how quickly it had been over, and Mahariel - once he had recollected himself - grimaced, covering his face with a hand in shame.

Zevran gave a laugh, gently pulling the hand away by the wrist, “Now, there’s no need to be embarrassed. These things happen, but now it _does_ beg the question: shall I continue or would you rather leave it as is?”

Mahariel couldn’t look him in the eye, but took a breath in an attempt to calm down from his mortification. “I could…” a glance at the tattoo running down Zevran’s side, “go a few rounds…”

***

Zevran sidled off after the fifth round, propping his head up on an arm. “See? I knew this would happen eventually. I should have warned you right from the moment you refused to kill me. It was inevitable.”

Mahariel, panting and wholly spent, managed to roll his eyes and lift a hand to lightly shove Zevran’s face. “You’re practically a public menace.” His throat was raw.

An amused quirk of his lips as he allowed the pushback, “It’s true. They used to issue warnings about me at the Antivan border.”

The warden shuffled up to grab a drink from his canteen and settled into the light pillow talk. They agreed to keep it casual and as Mahariel watched Zevran’s back as he dressed, exiting his tent with a final wink, he convinced himself that was fine.

* * *

The second time Mahariel slept with Zevran was after Wynne had expressed a concerned disapproval over his interest in the Antivan. While they were on friendly enough terms, she had not been travelling with them for long and it rubbed at him the wrong way. Perhaps it was the years of instilled caution towards _shem_. 

Despite his intentions, Zevran was happy to oblige and Mahariel made a show of volume out of spite.

When Zevran ducked out of the tent once again, Mahariel tried to ignore the sudden emptiness of his bedroll.

* * *

The third time Mahariel slept with Zevran, he had been plagued with dreams of the darkspawn and Archdemon for the past few nights. They had settled for camp when Zevran approached. “My friend! How well-versed are you in poetry? Antivan poetry specifically.”

Mahariel tried to push aside his exhaustion, “I know nothing of poetry.”

A chuckle, “Trust me, you’ll know even less once I tell you this.”

He began his recital after a moment to recall the memory. It took Mahariel a moment too long to realise the poem's subject, “What was that? Sex poetry?”

“So she claimed,” Zevran regaled the tale of his wealthy mark, Mahariel questioning intermittently. He closed off with: “Here I thought you might be cheered up by some naughty poetry. You simply look so…” he waved a hand in the air, trying to find the right word, “...grim. Such an unflattering expression for such a handsome face."

Fingers lightly brushed under Mahariel’s chin and something washed over him. He once again offered to spend the night with Zevran.

Mahariel only had enough energy for a quick round, but before Zevran could run off again, he loosely grabbed his hand.

“Could you stay?” The exhaustion suddenly felt overwhelming. “We don’t… have to do anything. Just… stay? Please?”

The assassin amused himself with some comment of capturing the warden with his charms as he settled on the other side of the tent, careful not to encroach into the other man’s space.

Mahariel’s fingers twitched - tempted to reach out - but sleep overtook him under Zevran’s eyes.

* * *

The fourth, fifth and sixth time had been the same: they shared bodily pleasure and Zevran stayed.

They had never cuddled, Zevran made a point of contention at the notion. His assassin's training was still deeply ingrained in him - whether he wanted it or not - and the extent of his aftercare was limited to a dagger in his companion’s back.

Mahariel respected that. _Casual,_ he reminded himself.

* * *

Lucky number seven - as some would say - happened after a particular encounter in Denerim. 

Zevran woke with a shuddering jolt. Images of daggers, masked figures, his hands - feet - tied, a mother he never knew, scrawny boys pressed together, Taliesin, blood on his fingers, glazed eyes and _so much death_.

Through shallow breaths, his head snapped toward a shift in the corner of his eye. _Mahariel_ . _Right. Of course._

Zevran positioned himself to face seated toward the Grey Warden, drawing his knees to his chest - a motion he hadn’t done since he was a child.

The thin bit of fabric they called a blanket smelled of elfroot and fresh dew - it summoned different images as a replacement. Whispers by firelight, the twitch of a smile, the sharp precision of an archer, a forgiving and generous hand, a righteous blade, a strong back, an unwavering mind, an intrinsic familiarity in nature. Mahariel.

Zevran sat there, the ringing in his ears subsiding as he watched over the Grey Warden, the man he swore an oath to, the man that ran into battle for any stray he found and somehow, Zevran found himself among them.

He ignored the twinge in his chest as the Dalish elf released a huff in his awakening, favouring his classic, roguish charm.

* * *

The first time Zevran declined an invitation to Mahariel’s tent, Mahariel was wearing a jewelled earring pierced through his helix. It had been a gift from Zevran, for ‘freeing him of the Crows.’ Mahariel had rolled it between his fingers as Zevran recounted how he stole it from a merchant prince, his first kill for the Crows.

Mahariel did not catch his eyes, favouring his focus on the way the firelight hit the gems. “So, this is just a reward for helping you?”

Zevran blinked, “I-” A frustrated exhale, “Look, do you want it or not?”

He pressed his lip into his teeth, something bubbling in his throat. _Casual,_ he told himself. “If you insist.”

***

The sight of the earring glimmering on tan skin stirred something that Zevran _did not_ want to address and he said as much.

Mahariel’s brow furrowed, his lips pressed into a thin line, “Would you prefer if we stopped altogether?”

An expected response. Zevran steeled himself for the inevitable - after all what good was he if he did not give? - and ignored the clenching in his chest, “If you wish.”

Instead, Mahariel’s face shifted, aghast at the thought, “No! Of course not!”

Relief bled into frustration, “Then why are we still talking about it? I said, ‘no’. Can you not understand that?” The look Mahariel gave him, eyes searching for some answer to his outburst, felt like a punch in the gut, “There are other things for you to focus on besides me, I am certain. Do… do those.”

The Dalish elf lingered for a moment - jaw clenched - in case something else needed to be said. But no words found either of them, so he dropped back into his tent. Alone.

Zevran exhaled, the tension dissipating. He noticed flickering eyes of his other companions, unsure of how to react to what was very obviously an argument. Grimacing at the display he had caused, he fled into his own tent.

* * *

It had been a while since the two had spoken beyond what was necessary. There had been fleeting looks, eyes wavering and longing before steadying themselves at the task at hand. Zevran had quieted himself, stewing in the swirl of feelings that frightened him - that he did not know how to address.

When Mahariel approached him again, he had taken the earring off some time back. Something sickly settled in Zevran at that fact.

“You seem… different now.”

Their easy words seemed a distant memory as they now danced around each other, neither certain of the other. Zevran anticipated the upcoming conversation with a grim thought, “Are you certain you wish to talk about this? I really do not know what to say.”

Mahariel’s jaw seemed tense, “Are you… having second thoughts about us?”

“I- No- This- I am acting like a child, I realise. I… apologise. Let me try to explain.” he paused, and restarted after a breath, “An assassin… must learn to forget about sentiment. It is dangerous. You take your pleasures where you can, when life is good. To expect anything more would be reckless.

“I thought it was the same between us. Something to enjoy, a pleasant diversion and little more. And yet…”

Something lilted in Mahariel’s voice, “Are you saying you’re in love with me?”

The words had lifted a pressure off Zevran’s chest. Still, doubt remained, “I don’t know. How would you know such a thing? I grew up amongst those who sold the illusion of love, and then I was trained to make my heart cold in favour of the kill. Everything I have been taught says what I feel is wrong.

“Yet I cannot help it. Since you asked me into your tent, I have been nothing but confused.” He gave a cursory glance, “Do you understand me at all?”

Mahariel’s face had softened, “I’m no wiser than you in that area, Zevran.”

Zevran knew this, Mahariel’s clan had few interactions with outsiders beyond trading and scaring off humans. “All I need to know is if there might be some future for us, some possibility of…” he sighed, “I do not know what.”

Mahariel tried to find his words; there was such a festering anxiety between them. “I… don’t know.” Their eyes met, like a dark storm meeting sunlight, “But, I know how I feel about you.”

That night together had been slow kisses, soft touches and tender words. Reintroducing themselves and asking for forgiveness. It was comparably different from their previous trysts, driven by desire. Yet, Zevran found himself almost preferring it. _Almost._

They were spent. Zevran hesitated, hovering and unsure whether he wanted to move away or stay close to the warden. The Grey Warden pulled his head into his chest, mumbling in his hair, “I love you. You know that, right?”

Rinna flashed into his mind, yet the fingers threading through his hair kept him grounded, filled him with certainty. “Yes,” he nestled his head into the crook of his warden’s neck, “Yes, I know that.”

**Author's Note:**

> It has been so long since I've written anything and I am delighted.


End file.
